“You didn’t have to.” God knew how, but she smiled again. “Thank you again, Chief Wheeler.”
He hesitated, looking like he might like to say something else, then responded, “Good day, Ms. Russell,” and left.
She hadn’t been able to repress a tiny flicker of excitement when he’d said, “We were both thinking about someone else,” but it died now, as if she’d dumped a bucket of water on it.
Why, she asked herself, would a man like him have any interest at all in a woman who’d been so weak she’d allowed herself to be battered?
GRAY COULD HAVE TAKEN A different route between city hall and Van Dusen & Cullen, Architects, but most often he drove down Main Street despite the stop signs at every corner. He liked the fact that there wasn’t a single chain store downtown. They wouldn’t have looked at home in this classic small town with false-fronted stores, apartments above the street-level businesses and flower baskets hanging on lampposts.
When he’d sat on the city council and since he had won the mayoral election, he’d had a part in keeping every building tenanted and in bringing the chain stores inside the city limits, but keeping them out by the freeway. He wanted their tax money and he wanted their conveniences for the citizens of West Fork, but he wanted to hold on to the character of a town that had survived a century without taking on any big-city problems.
Some of those were pressing now, but he intended to do his best to head them off. At the upcoming city council meeting, for example, he and Ben Wheeler would ask for the funding to put a police officer half-time in the schools. Before drugs and gangs crept inside the city limits.
He’d chosen West Fork for reasons he knew were intensely personal. He couldn’t recapture a time when his family was happy, before he’d lost his brother and, in a way, his parents, too, but that was the kind of life he longed for and fully intended to build. He hadn’t started a family of his own yet, which had left him free to concentrate on shaping this town to his liking.
That was arrogant, maybe, but he believed that most people shared the same desire for a hometown that was safe, where people knew and watched out for each other, where big-city conveniences were available, but not so nearby that giant parking lots replaced quiet streets where neighborhood kids could ride their bikes. He was helping make that happen. For his own reasons, granted, but Gray liked to think he was simply more aware of what drove him than most people were.
He glanced at Tastee’s in passing, thinking about the little white caps and how the candy-striped shirt would have looked on a teenaged Charlotte Russell. That’s when he noticed the battered pickup parked right in front. He pulled into a parking spot half a block farther down the street before he had time to reason himself out of it.
Charlotte might not even be the one inside. Faith could have taken the truck to town. And he wasn’t altogether sure he wanted to see Charlotte anyway. He’d half expected to wake up this morning with a huge, ugly bruise on his chest from the blow he’d felt last night at the sight of her sitting across the table from Wheeler. He would have sworn she shared the attraction, the pull that was more than physical.
It seemed he was wrong. So what the hell was he doing, pushing open the door and entering Tastee’s because Charlotte might be there?
He’d have an ice-cream cone. That was all.
But Gray had already spotted her, sitting alone at a table with a sundae in front of her. As he watched, she lifted a spoonful of ice cream to her mouth and savored it. Her tongue came out and slid over her lips, searching for more flavor.
She didn’t mean to be sexy, but his knees damn near buckled.
He had to wrench himself away to turn and order a scoop of French vanilla ice cream. But when he turned back, cone in hand, she still hadn’t noticed him and remained focused on her sundae. Not until he pulled out the chair and sat across from her did she look up with that familiar flare of wariness in her blue eyes.
“We keep running in to each other,” she said, after a moment.
“It’s a small town.” He took a bite of ice cream.
“Doesn’t that make your teeth hurt?”
He swallowed, ran his tongue over his teeth and smiled. “Nope. What do you do, lick a millimeter off at a time?”
“I use a spoon.” She brandished the pink plastic utensil.
“Spoons are for old ladies. You should try to have some fun.”
Sounding smug, Charlotte said, “It’s fun when hot fudge is involved.”
He’d never been aroused so fast, not even by a striptease. All it took, apparently, was a too-thin, nervy woman who took her slow, sweet time enjoying her ice cream.
He wondered how many of her subtle curves Ben Wheeler had laid his hands on last night.
“And what’s that you’re eating?” she asked. “Vanilla? Gee, why don’t you try to live a little?”
“I’m a simple man. I like my pleasures uncomplicated.” Sometimes, he thought. Charlotte Russell seemed as complicated as a woman could be.
She took another bite and murmured with pleasure.
“Sounds like Wheeler has reached a dead end,” Gray said in a voice that was only a little scratchier than it should have been.
“Oh?” Charlotte poked the spoon in the sundae and looked at him. “Have you talked to him since he went to see Sean Coffey?”
“Yes, and he can’t see the kid having done something so vicious.”
Her expression hardened. “Vicious sounds a whole lot more like Rory Hardesty.”
“You called him a wife beater.”
Her fury glittered in her eyes. “He hurt Faith. And she lied to us, her family. She always had an excuse for the broken bones or the black eye, for the days she had to take off work because she was ‘sick.’ My parents didn’t see through the lies. If I’d been here—” It was as if a knife had sliced her sentence off, between one word and the next. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them to look at Gray. “But I wasn’t,” she finished, the very flatness of her admission telling him how much she hated making it.
“If she wouldn’t tell your parents, what makes you think she’d have told you any more?”
“We read each other well.” She paused. “That’s one of the tribulations of being a twin.”
Gray remembered what it was like having someone who knew what he was thinking as soon as it crossed his mind. He’d never gotten over losing his brother, never would. But he hadn’t talked about Gerrit with anyone but his parents in over fifteen years, and rarely even them. Thinking about Gerrit, remembering, hurt them. The absence of his brother and their inability to talk about him was the shadow that kept him from feeling as close to his parents as he’d like to have been. They loved him and he loved them, but he always wondered if his every visit peeled scabs from unhealed wounds.
Not a comfortable thought.
Bothered by his lapse into old regrets, he only nodded at Charlotte’s observation, although the words I had a twin crowded his tongue. He might have told Charlotte, if he hadn’t seen her last night with Wheeler.
“Well, it’s over,” she said with a sigh. “Or it would be, if Rory would get it through his head that so far as Faith’s concerned, he’s history.” She narrowed her eyes at Gray. “I suppose you’re going to tell me some teenager set that fire just for fun, too.”
“No. I’m with you. I heard how that bastard talked to you. You pissed him off royally. When he left that day, he was mad. I think that fire is just his style.”
She blinked. “Well.”
He gave a slow smile. “Surprised you?”
“Wheeler ticks me off,” she muttered. “Why can’t he see through Rory? Are you sure he knows what he’s doing?”
Well. Gray didn’t say it aloud, but thought it. He supposed he just stared for a too-long moment. “That why you went out to dinner with him? To knock some sense into his head?”
Pink blossomed on her cheeks, yet another surprise. Charlotte wasn’t as confident as she wanted the world to believe.
“It’s
none of your business why I went out with him,” she mumbled, then quickly lifted a sloppy spoonful of ice cream to her mouth. Fudge dripped down her T-shirt and she swiped a napkin at herself irritably. “Doesn’t that figure?” she grumbled. “But who cares what I look like anyway?”
I do, Gray thought, and wished like hell he didn’t. He wasn’t about to tell her she was beautiful even when she was messy and bad-tempered.
He said abruptly, “If it was Rory, he’s going to be disappointed the fire didn’t do more damage. Didn’t even keep you from opening the next morning.”
There wasn’t any color left in her face now. “I know.”
“I wish you had someone else with you there at night.”
“We’re bringing Dad home tomorrow.”
“That won’t be much help.” Frustration and anger close to the surface, he stood to toss his crumpled napkin in the trash can. “You need someone standing watch.”
She tilted her head to look up at him. “Ben suggested we get a dog.”
Wheeler again. But the idea had merit.
“The county shelter has plenty of them that need homes.”
“Yes, but…” Worry darkened her eyes.
“‘But’?” he prodded.
“I don’t see how Dad and Faith can keep the farm going. What if they end up having to move into a house with a small yard in town? The last thing they’ll need is a big dog.”
“Yeah.” He sat back down. “You’re right. And it wouldn’t be in Faith’s nature to take the dog back to the shelter.”
“No. And she’s so weighted down with responsibilities now.”
What about you? he wanted to ask. Why aren’t you a happier woman, Charlotte Russell?
Gray only nodded again and said nothing.
After a minute, Charlotte sighed. “I need to get on to the grocery store. It’s just that I remembered how good the ice cream was here.”
“I stop once a week or so myself.” Which was an out-and-out lie; occasionally was more accurate.
She smiled at him. “I had some serious muscles when I worked here. Let me tell you, on a Saturday evening when you’re digging scoops out, one after the other, the forearms get a workout.”
“Write it up for a fitness magazine,” he suggested, standing when she did and waiting while she dumped the remains of her sundae and the wadded napkins. “Here’s a title—The Sweet Way to Arm Definition.”
A grin was his reward. “For most people, scooping ice cream is a faster route to a big butt.”
He laughed as he held open the door for her. When she stopped beside the pickup, he paused with his hands in his pockets.
“You off to play mayor?” she asked.
“Architect. Did mayor this morning.”
“Who is Cullen?”
Pleased by her interest, Gray said, “Moira. Friend of mine from college. She’s carrying the firm right now, but she claims not to mind.”
Charlotte nodded, although from the speculation in her eyes he guessed she’d have liked to know more. That gratified him, too. Let her imagine what kind of relationship he and Moira had.
Assuming she bothered, of course. Mild curiosity wouldn’t torment her the way he’d been tormented last night when he lay awake picturing Wheeler kissing her or—worse yet—wondering if Charlotte had gone home with him.
Irritation with himself made his nod brusque. “See you, Charlotte.”
“Sure.” She flipped a hand and started around the back of the pickup.
Gray didn’t wait to watch her get in. He walked away, his irritation as uncomfortable as a poison-ivy rash, and just as avoidable.
He should have driven on, not stopped for the damn ice-cream cone he hadn’t even wanted.
Next time, he told himself, he would drive on.
DON RUSSELL CAME HOME IN an ambulance the next day. From Faith’s air of worry, Charlotte guessed that the insurance wasn’t covering the extra cost, but her sister had been so edgy that day, she didn’t like to ask.
They’d rented a hospital bed and set it up in the living room where he could see both the TV and out the front window. He wouldn’t be able to handle stairs for a good long while. He wouldn’t be putting weight on his left leg for weeks, either, although he was encouraged to haul himself around some on his crutches.
He looked gray by the time the ambulance workers got him settled in bed.
“I should have gone to a nursing home,” he muttered. “This is too much for you girls. Waiting on me hand and foot… A bedpan…” He shook his head.
Faith kissed his cheek. “We’re not girls anymore and haven’t been for a long time. And what’s so different about emptying a bedpan from mucking a stall?”
He glared at her. “A man should be able to hold on to some dignity.”
“Nowadays,” she told him, “a man has to be able to buy dignity. We can’t afford it.”
Who’d have thought Faith was capable of being so blunt? Charlotte stepped forward on her father’s other side. “I came home to help take care of you, Daddy, and I don’t mind. I’m guessing you changed a few of our diapers. Think of it as payback time.”
He grumbled some more, but the reminder seemed to mollify him.
The sisters left him to nap and returned to the barn. He had the phone within reach and they both carried cell phones.
“We need to check him at least every hour anyway,” Charlotte said as they walked across the lawn. “He’ll refuse to call unless he’s facedown on the floor, and then he won’t be able to reach the phone.”
“Maybe every half hour, at least this first day or two,” Faith agreed. “Have I thanked you for being here?”
“Only a thousand times or so.”
A couple of cars were parked outside the barn and another was turning in from the freeway.
“I think we should open the maze this weekend,” Faith said.
“Looks like the corn is tall enough,” Charlotte agreed. “I assume that’s what you were waiting for?”
“Yeah, it’s no fun if you can see over the top.”
“You know, I’ve never been through a corn maze. I guess I’ll have to try it out before we open.”
Faith grinned at her. “You need to memorize it so you can go on rescue missions.”
Charlotte stopped. “You’re kidding. Anyone lost enough could just push through the corn.”
“But they don’t think of that. Kids especially. And I designed a really good maze this year.” She started to walk again, then stopped. “Maybe Ben would like to try it with you.”
“Wheeler?” Charlotte snorted. “He’d probably like it better if I could lose some city council members in there. Permanently.”
They fell into step again. “He having trouble with them?”
“If memory serves me, what he said is that he’d rather have a good old-fashioned liquor store holdup than attend the next council meeting. Or words to that effect.”
They were almost to the barn. “Did you like him?” Faith asked.
Charlotte shrugged. “Yeah, he seems like a good guy. Although, still waters, you know?”
Right outside the open doors, Faith stopped again. “Run deep? What do you mean?”
“Just that I wonder why he made such a drastic change in his life. LAPD to West Fork? Not a natural progression.”
“No, I suppose not. Did you ask?”
“Yes, but he wasn’t very expansive. I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it, so we moved on.” She shrugged. “You’re more likely to get to know him well than I am.”
“He asked you out. Not me.”
“I think…” Charlotte didn’t finish. If Faith hadn’t noticed the way he watched her, that meant she wasn’t interested, or he scared her, or who knew. Maybe she was off men, after Rory. Who could blame her? Charlotte didn’t want to make her sister uncomfortable with the police chief, not when she was likely to need him. The fire wouldn’t satisfy Rory for long.
Faith looked hard at her. “What do you thi
nk?”
“We didn’t have any spark.” Charlotte made a face. “Bad pun, huh?”
“He’s a sexy man.”
Charlotte raised her brows.
Her sister flushed. “I’d have thought he was your type, that’s all.”
Interesting. “Well, it turns out he’s not.” She frowned. “Why is it we’ve never been attracted to the same men? Isn’t it supposed to be chemical? We should have the same chemicals.”
Despite all her worries, Faith had never looked prettier than she did right now, laughing helplessly as she leaned against the weathered barn, the sun making her blond hair gleam.
“Remember Derek Hinchy?” She could barely get the words out between giggles. “That crush you had on him?”
“Oh, God.” Charlotte found herself laughing, too. “What was that, seventh grade?”
“Yes, and you walked to the library every day after school instead of taking the bus home because he went there.”
“And the minute he got there he’d log on to the computer and never look up again.”
“I can still picture that lank hair hanging over his face.”
“I figured he was brilliant and really deep. But one day he’d see me and…”
“You’d suggest he wash his hair?”
They both went off into gales of laughter again.
“Still,” Charlotte said, when she recovered, “my point’s valid. I don’t remember us ever being interested in the same guy.”
Faith opened her mouth, visibly thought better of whatever she’d been going to say, then closed it. It was a moment before she suggested, “I guess we disprove the whole theory. Because think about it—if we give off identical pheromones, the same guys should want both of us.”
“Never happened. You’re right. We’ve made a scientific breakthrough.”
“And we won’t get credit for it.” Shaking her head, Faith went on into the barn.
Smiling, Charlotte followed. Derek Hinchy. The first of her geek crushes, and the least excusable. Faith had been nice enough back then to be sympathetic and to help her think of excuses to loiter in his vicinity. In turn, Charlotte had pretended she understood why Faith thought Saul Epler was the hottest guy in the world even though he was six foot two and so skinny he could have passed for a praying mantis. He wasn’t very smart, either, she remembered. But, oh, how she and Faith had whispered and giggled about their first crushes!
Charlotte's Homecoming Page 6